I'm home alone during the week, save for my usually snoring dog, Roscoe. He's a thirteen-year-old pit bull and also my best buddy in the world; I spend more time with Roskie than I do my bride, who is still among the working class.
It can get very quiet most days, especially in winter, when I can't get outside and tend to the flower beds or mow our little slice of heaven. I take great pride in our home and don't consider its upkeep as work. In winter, however, there's only so much to do as I await the arrival of spring. The quiet...well, that is an advantage I didn't see when I first retired, but I've come to savor the solitude.
A guy can watch only so much television, right?
The silence affords time to think, reflect and remember, to recall, mostly, the job. Sometimes I relive the hilariously funny episodes that occurred while wearing a badge from the fall of 1979 to early August of 2013; other times, its the moments that normal people never see or encounter, times that have drawn tears and reopened old wounds in the soul.
Sometimes, though, an encounter with someone from my time as a cop brings me sheer joy. Today was one of those times.
Stacy only works a half-day on Mondays and we've gotten into the routine of going out for lunch when she gets home. As she usually does, my wife called just after noon to let me know she was on the way, and asked if I'd be interested in eating in town; of course I would! I'm a big fan of food, you see.
Shaving while awaiting Stacy's arrival, I ran through the list of possible eateries we might visit and settled on one of our favorite locations, knowing she'd agree. We bustled out the door of Black Gold Homestead a mere five minutes after she got home. Arriving in town, I slid to a stop at a parking meter in front of The Mansfielder (not the restaurant's actual name), dropped a dime in the meter and walked inside with my redheaded angel.
I'm not going to describe the eatery in detail because I wouldn't want to reveal the identity of the person I'm about to tell you of; suffice it to say the place is nothing fancy and has been around for awhile, and the food is always good.
After being seated and reviewing the menu I looked around the place, sitting as I always do, facing the door. There were probably five people working in the place, but one in particular piqued my interest; I knew the woman from somewhere, but where? Even though she was wearing a surgical mask (is anyone else getting sick of seeing them?) I knew I'd come across her before sometime back when I was on the job.
Stacy and I ordered (the mystery gal wasn't our waitress) and I told my wife about the woman behind the mask, that I knew her from somewhere. Once our food arrived and we'd started eating, the cop part of my brain worked in the background, trying to remember...
Then it hit me. I'd arrested her for drug possession a little over two decades earlier. This story, however, has a bit of a twist to it.
Back on that day, as she sat in an interview room at the department, she was a little scared and apprehensive, as she should have been. It was her first arrest for drug possession. I knew her from another restaurant in town, one I'd visited a lifetime ago (read: back before I met and married my wife) on a semi-regular basis. I was surprised this woman (barely out of her teens back then) would be involved in drug use.
"Annie (not her real name), you know me; I can't tell you how shocked I am."
Tears started flowing down her face.
"How do you get from being a young, beautiful girl with your entire future in front of you to sitting in a police station in handcuffs?" I should mention here that Annie had dropped off the radar, leaving the restaurant where she'd worked about a year before this episode, and the ravages of dope use had taken a toll.
That began an extended conversation about the pressures of life as a single mother and succumbing to drug use. We talked about getting clean, of changing your environment, including who you hung out with, ways to make it in this world, of inner strength and considering the effects your actions will have on your family and children.
I took a lot of time with Annie because I knew she could be better. I knew she was worth it. I hoped my erstwhile counseling session took hold.
Now, all these years later, here's Annie again. As she passed by our table I stopped her.
"Excuse me, but do you know who I am?" The heavy, gray goatee and added age lines in my face, I was surprised by her reaction.
"I sure do! You're the policeman who saved me!", she said, pulling her face mask down to reveal a beaming smile. "That talk we had...I can't tell you how much it meant to me. I've been clean for almost twenty years now, I'm married to a great guy and have three kids, and...well...thank you."
Annie's eyes started to tear up; this old copper had a lump in his throat.
Not wanting to embarrass her (or myself), I changed the subject, introducing Annie to my wife; we chatted about Covid and the weather. Before she left our table, though, Annie remarked to Stacy, "He was one of the good ones."
By taking a few minutes out of the decades I wore the badge, I made a difference in just this one life. Maybe more, I'll never know, but seeing this former addict alive and flourishing...
It was worth it.
